


let them have the couch (tongue tied)

by blondediamond



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Beach Day, First Kiss, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, One Shot, Songfic, Tongue Tied, background karlnap, for the aesthetic, i did listen to roadtrip while i was writing, no beta we die like george in manhunt, summertime lovin', they’re in love your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29650392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondediamond/pseuds/blondediamond
Summary: The houses became more familiar, the layout a little less foreign. George knew there was another main street to get to, before they hit the neighborhood layout again.Causeway street, he thought.“Hey, Dream, do you see Cause—”“It’s right there.” Dream said, stretching across George and using his right hand to point out the window to a green sign.His left hand, though, landed deliberately in the middle of George’s thigh.a beach day ends in a makeout session over the center console. George was only asking for directions.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 3
Kudos: 169





	let them have the couch (tongue tied)

**Author's Note:**

> *cracks knuckles* and I ignore homework yet again to bring you FLUFF!  
> An idea I had during music theory and just couldn't freaking get it out of my head until it was written, mom if you saw the minecraft youtuber fanfic outline in the back of my music notebook no you did not. 
> 
> Tenses might be a little off, my apologies for that. This is a 2am fic. I will fix it in the morning, but the people deserve their DNF summer fics…in the middle of February. 
> 
> Soundtrack: Tongue Tied by Grouplove

George knew, as his fingers hit the car door handle, that he’d made the right call, offering to drive home. Sapnap had loaded them out, stacking coolers and beach chairs into the trunk like a mother hen, ensuring there was a Kan Jam and a beer pong in the boot too.

It had been a little weird to be a group of four when Sapnap and Karl were dating. _Dating_. The word felt odd on his tongue. The clandestine relationship between the two boys had only really come into light at the beginning of summer. Flirtation, innuendo—anything flew on the SMP and in chat. The entire friend group was very pro-kissing the homies. 

But now, Sapnap was kissing one _specific_ homie. They’d memorized each other’s Dunkin’s orders, held hands between the seats of the car, and Karl’s ‘thank-you’ for Sap passing him a Coke was a forehead kiss. They were sweet, and couple-y.

Dream and George were decidedly…not.

It was that coupleishness that George had taken pity on, letting an affectionate Sapnap wrestle a sleepy, sunburned Karl onto the back bench. Sapnap slid in beside him, and Karl rested his head on Sapnap’s shoulder, like the most natural thing in the world. George swiped the keys out of the beach tote and started the car, checking mirrors, windows, lights, preparing to drive home in the hazy July dusk.

He didn’t like how his breath caught when Dream slid in shotgun.

The engine of the hand-me-down car was supposed to make that noise, that kind of coughing second-guess, the sputter before everything shifts into gear. It was not supposed to come, damning, out of George’s own throat.

He tried to cover it up with a cough. “Sea chest,” he explained, to a Dream who hadn’t asked.

Where else was Dream supposed to sit? Karl was now laying in Sapnap’s lap, snoozing, and Sap looked about ready to pass out himself. There were only two rows of seats in the car, and the trunk was occupied with beach supplies.

George briefly considered insisting Dream strap himself to the roof. If George couldn’t see him, his thudding heart would probably calm.

Probably.

The drive was just long enough to feel like a road trip, long enough for the rest of his friends to fall into a lulled state. George kept the radio on, softly mumbling along, in an attempt to stay awake. Light snores sounded from the backseat, and he chuckled, knowing the sounds could be worse—he’d heard his two friends swapping spit far too often this summer.

With his eyes on the road, he knew where Dream was in his periphery, could gauge how he was sitting, slumped in the seat with his knees up. He wasn’t wearing a hoodie, but there was one thrown over his knees, as pseudo blanket against the salty air. George could tell he was on his phone, but that was all.

He stole a look at Dream at the fifteen minute mark. The blond boy was checking Twitter.

The twenty-minute mark. He was editing a picture he’d taken of Karl on Sapnap’s back, adding kissy-stickers and other filters, probably to send to the group chat as blackmail.

The twenty-five minute mark, Dream had stowed his phone, and was watching the moonlit water pass by, as George continued the drive. The GPS squeaked that there was another half hour of driving, and Dream broke the silence.

“Would you ever want to be as touchy as them?”

The sputter was back, the stop-start of confusion announcing itself in George’s chest before he’d even processed the question.

_Would you ever want us to be as touchy as them?_

Those were not the words that Dream had spoken, and George forced his mind to rearrange them until the were correct. Still, Dream’s meaning eluded him.

“Wha—what do you mean?”

Dream shifted sideways, so he could watch George instead of the road. “You know, holding hands and stuff. Someone gets a kiss on the cheek every ten minutes. They’re all ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ and ‘love’.”

George shrugged, hoping Dream would accept the slight movement of his shoulders as an answer.

“I can’t tell if you’re affectionate, George.”

That was startling, and almost had the tinge of rudeness. “With the right person, I would be.”

The words came out almost a little indignant, and George felt he’d fumbled the reply. He continued—

“I don’t like sappy, no. Cuteness for cuteness’ sake, no. I don’t want to be rewarded every time I hand someone a glass of water. But, yeah, if I’m in a relationship,” he shrugged again, getting a little self-conscious at how default it was in the face of challenging words. “I don’t mind being touched.”

Dream made no verbal reply, only nodded a few times, moving back to look out the windshield.

“Would…you? Want that?”

Dream’s nod was instantaneous, almost hungry, and the smile he turned on George was cocky.

“Hell, yes. Usually, I’m the one initiating it.”

There was no response to this. There couldn’t be. It was all George could do to keep his mind in line, strictly curtailing it away from thoughts of Dream’s hands on his waist, shoulders, throat, pushing him backward and against—

“Light’s green.” Sapnap mumbled from the backseat. “Ever seen one, George? Means you’re supposed to drive. Go.”

He threw his hand up over the seat, flipping Sapnap off, but he doubted the drowsy boy even saw it.

Sound trickled out of the radio, and George turned it up to cover the silence. He had no choice but to listen to the lyrics, then, and that was a mistake.

_take me to your best friend’s house_

_go around this roundabout, oh yeah._

_take me to your best friend’s house_

_I loved you then and I loved you now, oh yeah._

Streets turned into a messy network, and just as he reached Sapnap’s maze of a neighborhood, the GPS gave a trilling beep, and died.

 _Shit_.

The roads, especially in darkness, looked like a snarl of trailing directions. George tried to remember which houses they had passed, which sides they had been on, but once the main road ended, he’d be utterly screwed.

_don’t take me tongue tied._

_don’t wave no goodbye—_

He considered waking Sapnap, yelling into the backseat, but then he’d have to deal with a grumpy Karl.

He bit his lip as the stop sign ended the road. Left, or right. Fifty-fifty chance.

_don’t, babe_

_take me to your best friend’s house_

_marmalade, we’re making out, oh yeah_

_take me to your best friend’s house,_

_I loved you then and I love you now_

The stalled car alerted Dream, who looked up and out the windshield.

“Left.” He announced, casually, and George turned left. The road only lasted about a quarter of a mile, before George was faced with a fork again.

“Right.” Dream pointed, not really looking at George.

The houses became more familiar, the layout a little less foreign. George knew there was another main street to get to, before they hit the neighborhood layout again.

Causeway street, he thought.

“Hey, Dream, do you see Cause—”

“It’s right there.” Dream said, stretching across George and using his right hand to point out the window to a green sign.

His left hand, though, landed deliberately in the middle of George’s thigh.

George felt the afternoon’s waves come rolling back, the underwater feeling deep enough to drown in. Dream sat back down, but left his hand relaxed where it was, long fingers on soft flesh. He was waiting, waiting for George to tense or throw him off, or shout at him for even doing such a thing.

George took no such course, and Dream’s hand remained.

No one commented if the next request for directions was a little breathless. Dream supplied the answer, another right, and as George turned the wheel, Dream’s hand moved a millimeter upward, and then another. When no refusal was forthcoming, slim, cool fingers reached Geroge’s upper thigh and climbed just under the hem of his shorts, one teasing, swooping underneath.

_don’t take me tongue tied_

_don’t wave no goodbye_

_don’t take me tongue tied_

_don’t kiss me goodnight_

_don’t…._

“It’s a left here, and then the driveway.” Dream said, helpfully, as his hand continued its distracting pattern and George’s fingers shook on the wheel.

_take me to your best friend’s house,_

_go around this roundabout, oh yeah_

He pulled into Sapnap’s without combusting, although the drowning feeling was still there, pooling in his stomach and sinking lower, lower.

Karl and Sapnap woke up when the car stopped, shaking each other awake and stumbling into the house. George watched them go, as Dream moved from the top of his thigh inward, skating a thumb just outside the place that begged to be touched.

He shut the car off, and leaned back, finally revealing his shaking breaths to Dream and the empty car.

“They’re probably going to fall asleep on the couch again, and then where will you sleep tonight?”

“George,” Dream reached for his cheek and turned his face with one finger, using the hand that wasn’t tracing distracting circles. “Let them have the couch. C’mere.”

Their lips met over the center console, in a kiss that tasted like saltwater and the heady taste of teasing. Dream dragged his fingers down George’s cheek, his throat, before resting a hand on his chest and slowly pushing him back against the driver’s seat. George seriously considered climbing into his lap, but the sly look on Dream’s face stopped him. He leaned back in, and Dream took the hint and met him halfway, encumbered by the car, twisted so he could kiss George deeper, steadier, with a desire that said _you are all I want, under this sun._

“We have to—” a kiss in the soft spot under his ear, distracting and warm. “We have to wake—” a kiss on his shoulder, brand new sensation with open mouth and swirling tongue. “We can’t let them fall back—” a kiss fully on his mouth, sealed to shut him up, stop protests, and replace worries with swirling, exhilarating distraction.

“I’m sleeping in your bed tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> I did not make a single joke in this about how George would drive on the other side of the road. I kinda regret that. 
> 
> The final line is supposed to be Dream, but I like leaving it up to interpretation.  
> I never figured out these summertime sleeping arrangements, anyway. Who really cares whose bed is whose? 
> 
> I hope you liked my little beachy/roadtrip ramble :D


End file.
